


The Five Sleeping Positions of Mark & Bridget

by reindeerjumper



Series: Daddy Darcy [8]
Category: Bridget Jones's Diary (2001), Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types, Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
Genre: 5 Things, 5 Times, Awkward Flirting, Chaptered, Daddy Darcy, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Fights, Flirting, Fluff, Height Differences, Long-Term Relationship(s), Marriage, Mother-Son Relationship, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Sleep, Sleeping Together, Sleepy Cuddles, Spooning, Teasing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-30 03:08:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8516164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reindeerjumper/pseuds/reindeerjumper
Summary: Five different instances Mark and Bridget have fallen asleep with each other.





	1. On a Cold Winter's Night

**Author's Note:**

> I loved this prompt from Turquoise and couldn't help myself. Once again got carried away, so I'm putting it into 5 chapters to make it easier to tackle :)

On a particularly snowy December night, Bridget and Mark had headed to Magda and Jeremy’s for a Christmas party. Being up the street from Mark’s Holland Park home, they decided to enjoy the winter wonderland and walk to the party instead of drive. After a few hours of small talk, appetizers and two or three (or four or five) cocktails, they decided to call it a night and head back to Mark’s for the evening.

They hadn’t noticed how late it was when they walked through the door, and they also hadn’t drank enough to ignore the frigid temperatures outside. “Bugger, it’s cold out,” Bridget said, blowing into her gloved hands and stamping her feet in Mark’s foyer. Mark unraveled his scarf from his neck and took his own jacket off before helping Bridget out of hers. Emboldened by the red wine that he had drank at the party, he took the liberty of pulling the neckline of her shirt aside to place a few tantalizing kisses along her shoulder.

Bridget turned around with mock indignation. “Now, now, Mark Darcy. You don’t get to open presents before Christmas. You know that,” she said with a narrow-eyed smile. Mark gave her one of his infamous smirks, the dimple in his cheek deepening. “Besides,” Bridget continued with a yawn, “I’m absolutely knackered. The holidays just completely take it out of me.”

Mark gave her a kiss on the forehead and said, “Why don’t you head upstairs and get ready for bed? I’ll make us some hot chocolate to warm up, and then we can call it a night.” 

Bridget smiled up at him, wrapping her arms around herself as she leaned up on her tiptoes to kiss him on the lips. “You’re a wonderful man, Mark Darcy. Don’t forget my extra marshmallows.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Now get going,” Mark replied, giving her a playful pinch on her bottom. She let out a squeal, looking over her shoulder at him as she climbed the stairs. He afforded himself the luxury of watching the sway of her hips as she ascended the staircase before heading into the kitchen to make their hot chocolate.

With the two mugs on a tray (and a bowl of extra marshmallows specifically for Bridget), Mark made his way up to the master bedroom. He pushed the door open with his hip, not wanting to spill the drinks, and backed his way into the bedroom. Bridget was already lying in his king-sized bed, right smack in the middle of it with the heavy duvet pulled all the way up to her chin. 

“Hurry up and get in here. It’s freezing in this gigantic bed, all by myself,” she said, a shiver running through her body. 

“Give me a second to get out of these clothes,” Mark said, gesturing to the grey slacks, button-down, and jumper he was wearing. “In the meantime, here’s your hot chocolate.”

Once Mark had changed into a pair of plaid pajama bottoms and a t-shirt, he grabbed his own mug of hot chocolate, placed it on the nightstand, and slid in between the blankets. He caught a glimpse of Bridget’s creamy thigh against the burgundy of his sheets, and a much different shiver ran through him. “Are you  _ naked?”  _ he asked, tilting his chin down to look at her through his eyelashes.

“Only from the waist down,” Bridget responded, taking a sip of her hot chocolate. “You know I hate pajamas, but it’s too bloody cold to wear nothing. I hope you don’t mind that I stole one of your Cambridge sweatshirts. It was the only one I could find.” 

Mark didn’t comment on how attractive he found it that she had chosen  _ that _ particular sweatshirt, so he busied himself with his hot chocolate as he settled amongst the pillows. Bridget had gulped hers down and placed the empty mug on the nightstand. She was now enjoying the extra marshmallows that Mark had brought up with gusto. “Mmm, can’t thank you enough for these. You know I’m a sucker for them,” she said, popping one in her mouth.

Unable to help himself, Mark smiled and leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. “You’re welcome, darling,” he said huskily. “Why don’t we turn in for the night? All of that small talk and those mini quiches really did me in.”

Bridget nodded, her eyes drowsy. “Brilliant idea,” she said, snuggling down under the covers. “Big or little spoon?” she asked, glancing at him. 

Mark weighed his options and considered the attraction that was pulling him towards snogging Bridget senseless.  _ Mustn’t give in to temptation.  _ He cleared his throat as he placed his own mug on his nightstand. “Why don’t you be big spoon tonight?” he said. It wasn’t worth risking having his member pressed up against the smooth backside of Bridget if he wasn’t going to act on it. 

Bridget smiled and said, “Big spoon it is.” Mark clicked the bedside lamp off and settled himself under the covers. He felt Bridget press up against his back, her body significantly smaller than his, but somehow managing to make him feel incredibly safe. Her arm snaked around his waist and pulled him in closer to her. The leg of his pajamas pants had crept up towards his knees, and he could feel Bridget’s cold feet against the back of his calves. He felt her breath between his shoulder blades, where she placed a gentle kiss. 

Mark slid his hand down Bridget’s arm, and settled it on top of her hand that rested on his stomach. He let out a contented sigh and smiled. “Good night, my darling Bridget,” he whispered. 

Bridget snuggled her face into his back, cuddling up against him like a housecat. “Good night, perfect boyfriend,” she responded drowsily. 

She placed on more kiss between his shoulder blades before they both fell soundly asleep. 


	2. On a Rainy Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark surprises Bridget one afternoon by coming home early for work.

Mark had come home from work early on a particularly wet afternoon, his overcoat drenched and his mop of curls damp against his forehead. He decided to leave chambers early to spend the afternoon with Bridget, and maybe take her out for some fish and chips later on. He thanked his lucky stars that she had given him a key to her flat as he fumbled with the lock, the rain pouring down around him. Once the bolt disengaged from the lock, he quickly let himself in and bounded up the stairs towards her flat.

He was greeted by Bridget at the landing, a gobsmacked look on her face. “Mark, what are you doing here?” she asked, pulling the robe she was wearing over a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt closer to her body. “It’s only 1:00 in the afternoon...on a Thursday! Is everything alright?”

Mark flashed her a grin as he shed his wet coat. “Everything’s fine,” he said, leaning in to peck her on the lips. He slid off his shoes and ran a hand through his hair. “I just missed you a bit...figured I’d take the afternoon off and spend it with you.” 

Bridget gave him a thankful smile as she snaked her arms around his waist. She looked up at him, her eyes shining. “You’re quite wonderful, you know that?” she said, pressing a finger into his chest. Mark grabbed the finger in midair as it came down for another jab, and he bit the tip of it. Bridget let out a gasp of mock indignation, and kissed him on the lips.

“I have some of your pajamas in the bottom drawer if you want to change. I know I’m not getting all fancied up...it’s a shame you picked today of all days to come over like this. I woke up this morning with, well...you know. My  _ friend,” _ Bridget continued. 

_ Ah, explains the sweats,  _ Mark thought to himself. “Pajamas sound perfect on a day like today,” he replied as he began to undo his tie. “Bottom drawer you said?”

“Yep. I’ll follow you in, actually. I was in the middle of a chapter when I heard you coming in.”

The two of them made their way into Bridget’s bedroom, where Bridget promptly crawled back onto the mattress while Mark rummaged in the bottom drawer for a change of clothes. She had brought a fuzzy throw in from the living room, which was now covering her body as she watched him from the end of the bed. He pulled his wet clothes off and peeled off his wet socks before asking her for a hanger to put them on.

“Your socks, too?” she asked with a smirk as she handed him a discarded hanger from the floor. 

“I’ll assume that’s a dig?” he said as he put the button-down and suit separates onto the hanger. He smoothed them out with his hand and then hung them on the doorframe of Bridget’s closet. 

“You fold your underwear, so why not hang your socks, too?”

Choosing to ignore her playful jabs at his habits, Mark said, “Speaking of socks, my feet are frozen. Didn’t I leave a pair here last week?”

Bridget narrowed her eyes in thought, her pink tongue peeking out from between her lips. “I think so...I must’ve washed them. Let me go check,” she said, standing up. She disappeared from the room for a few minutes, only to return with a pair of Mark’s black socks. “These?” she asked, holding them out to him.

“Those will do just fine,” he responded. He unfolded them and pulled them onto his feet before making his way around the side of Bridget’s bed to climb in next to her. Bridget was already reclined against the pillows, her glasses on the end of her nose as she cracked the spine of the book she was reading. 

“I think you left your novel here Tuesday night,” she said, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. “It should still be on the nightstand, if you wanted to read with me.” 

Mark was thankful for her memory and her lack of desire to tidy up. Sure enough, the novel he had brought over in his briefcase earlier that week was under a half-empty glass of water on Bridget’s nightstand. He grabbed it in one hand and the pair of reading glasses he left at her flat before reclining against the pillows with a content sigh. 

“May I?” he asked, holding up the corner of the throw that Bridget had snuggled herself under. 

She gave him a wary look. “That’s fine,” she began hesitantly. “Just...y’know...don’t touch me with those socked feet. You know it grosses me out when you wear them to bed, and this  _ is _ my bed.” 

Mark bit his top lip and narrowed his eyes. “You can’t be serious,” he said. 

Bridget raised her eyebrows at him, cocking her head slightly. “You know damn well that I’m serious. It’s gross, and sometimes at night when you wear them to bed, they somehow end up shedding from your feet like creepy snakeskin. And then I’m left with two phantom footed socks in my bed. It’s enough to make me cringe.”

Mark indignantly took the extra bit of blanket and threw it over his legs, mumbling about how he was sorry that his feet got cold.    


“It’s probably because your heart can’t pump enough blood down those long legs of yours,” Bridget muttered as she opened her book back up. 

Unable to control himself any longer, Mark slid a foot across the bed and touched it up against Bridget’s bare foot. She let out a mortified squeal which trailed off into a sobbing moan. “ _ Mark, you bloody bastard!” _ she rasped, looking at him with vehemence. “It’s  _ disgusting!” _

Mark couldn’t hold back the grin threatening to spread across his face any longer. “You mean this is?” he said, rubbing his foot up Bridget’s calf. Bridget’s entire body convulsed as she let out another moan. There weren’t many situations like this that Mark could innocently ruffle Bridget’s feathers, and he was always surprised at how much  _ fun _ it was. 

“How about this?” he continued, rolling over so that he could grab her ankle with both feet. He could see the color rising on Bridget’s cheeks as she valiantly fought against his clutches.

“Mark, so help me,” she said through gritted teeth. “I  _ will _ murder you.” 

“Oh, will you now?” he said, scooting his body closer to hers. He put an arm across her waist and pulled her towards him to place a line of kisses on her jaw. Mark felt her melt against him. She turned her face towards his and pressed her forehead against his. 

“You are  _ very _ lucky that I love you so much,” she murmured. “But truly, don’t mess with a woman during her time of the month. I’m much more capable of murder today than I am any other day.”

Mark laughed and kissed her on the tip of her nose. “Fair enough,” he said. He pushed himself back to settle himself down on the pillows again. He handed Bridget her book, and took his own into his hands. “I’ll call a truce.” He could see Bridget smirk out of the corner of his eye.

The two of them read next to each other as the rain pattered against the window, the only other sound being the whoosh of the pages as they flipped them. The warmth of Bridget’s body next to his was lulling Mark into a comfortable drowsiness, and he couldn’t stifle a yawn as it escaped his lips. “Crikey,” he said as he covered his mouth. “I guess my body isn’t used to being home at this hour. Apparently it thinks it’s night.”

Bridget took her glasses off and folded the arms down. “I could go for a nap,” she said. She placed her book on the floor next to the bed, and placed her glasses on top of it. 

Mark looked at her and asked, “Yeah? You’re sure?” 

“My body is craving a nap right now, actually,” she said. She stifled a yawn of her own, rubbing her eye with the heel of her hand. 

Mark placed his book back on the nightstand with the reading glasses, and rolled back over onto the pillow. He held out his arm so that Bridget could scoot up underneath it. She placed a hand on his chest as she snuggled her face against his collarbone. He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead as she let out a sigh. He felt her legs grab his own, and she pulled herself closer. 

“You’re like a koala,” he said jokingly, giving her a squeeze.

He felt her laugh against him. “Cute and cuddly, that’s me,” she said drowsily.

“Agreed,” he said, kissing her on the forehead.

“But don’t forget, they can be mean little buggers, too. You touch me with those socks again and I’ll attack.” 

Mark let out a chuckle and held up his right hand. “I swear I won’t. At least, not while you’re trying to sleep. I can’t make any promises when you wake up.”

Bridget snuggled in closer to him, tightening the grip she had on his leg as she placed a gentle kiss on the spot where his jawline met his ear lobe. “I’m not kidding, Mark. I  _ will _ go all koala on you,” she murmured. 

“I have no doubt.”

The two of them dozed off, Bridget clinging to Mark as their heads touched. Their feet, however, stayed  _ very _ far apart. 


	3. On a Night That Didn't End Jovially

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark stood Bridget up at the Alconbury's Tarts & Vicars Party, and now he's paying the price.

The rows between Mark and Bridget were few and far between, but when they happened, they were explosive. He had expected this row in particular to be a nasty one--Bridget had gone to Una and Geoffrey’s Tarts & Vicars party under the impression that Mark would meet her there. They had been attending the party for close to 10 years, despite how much they both hated it. But Mark, of course, was late. 

Mark knew how uncomfortable it made Bridget, being there alone (even if she  _ had  _ stopped wearing the bunny outfit and opted for just a sexy, low-cut top and a short skirt instead), but that didn't stop him from getting caught up at court. He had rushed into the party at the tail end of it, not in costume and looking guilty.

Bridget had been painfully making niceties all afternoon with her parents’ friends, and Mark found her in the back of the Alconbury’s garden, smoking a cigarette and looking completely deflated. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she had a distant look about her. Clearly she had been crying in the privacy of the garden, most likely over his absence. 

“Bridget, I'm so sorry,” he said, skipping over a greeting and getting straight to the point. She looked up at him without a word, and took another drag off of her cigarette. He didn't dare mention that she had “quit” smoking only a mere two weeks ago--he knew better at this point. 

“May I?” he asked, walking over to the bench she was seated on. Without a word or eye contact, Bridget nodded. Mark cleared his throat and sat next to her. 

“Truly, I  _ am  _ sorry. I know there's no excuse that I can make to even defend myself, because it's inexcusable. There was a last minute meeting at chambers with the Korean diplomats and I couldn't back out. I didn't expect it to go as late as it did, but their flight had been delayed and they got in much later than we thought.” He paused to look at her, leaning forward in an attempt to make eye contact with her. “Please, Bridget. Look at me. I feel terrible about this.”

It was then that Bridget turned her head towards him. Her eyes didn't flash the way they normally did when she was angry. Instead, they looked dead, distant. She sighed and said in a wavering voice, “Mark, this is literally the same story you've given me every time you mess up. Except last time the diplomat was from Belgium, and before that it was a senator from the US. I understand that you're important, and it's one of the things I love about you, but for fuck’s sake, when am  _ I  _ going to be important enough for  _ you?”  _

She stood up, smoothing out the front of her skirt. She took one last drag of her cigarette before flicking it under a rose bush. “Take me home,” she said quietly, looking at her feet. 

“Bridget, please,” Mark said, standing up and walking over to her. He put a hand on her arm, trying to telepathically send her apologetic thought waves. He wasn't used to this Bridget--usually when she was upset, it was a tumultuous, tear-filled reaction that they hashed out for hours. Something about this, though, felt final. 

Without saying a word, Bridget turned from him and started to walk towards his BMW. It took Mark a second for his brain to catch up to his feet. He had started to rush after her, but he had no idea what to say to her. He just knew he needed to fix it.

The ride home was quiet. Bridget mostly looked out the window, her hands fidgeting in her lap with the engagement ring on her finger. Mark didn't make an effort to speak--he didn't know what to say.

As they got closer to London, Bridget finally spoke up. “Take me to my flat,” she said without looking at him. 

“Bridget, don't be like that. Please. The plan was for you to spend the night at my house. I truly am sorry. Don't leave it like this.”

“I've made up my mind, Mark. I need to be alone tonight with my thoughts, and I don't want to get muddled up in arguments and disagreements.”

Unable to contain his frustration any longer, Mark slammed a fist against the steering wheel. “For fuck’s sake, Bridget!” he said in an uncharacteristically loud tone. “Stop! This is ridiculous! I know I fucked up and I know you're upset, but let me bloody well fix it!”

He could feel a lump in his throat--he never lost his composure like this with Bridget, and he felt increasingly guilty. Usually she was the one screaming and flailing while he diplomatically tried to make peace. Now, she just sat in the passenger’s seat, eyes brimming with tears that she refused to let fall, and her hands twisted together in her lap. 

“I'm sorry,” he whispered. His heartbeat was pumping in his ears, and his grip on the steering wheel was white-knuckled. “If you want to go home, I'll take you home.” 

The rest of the ride was in absolute silence. Mark glided up to the curb outside of Bridget’s flat, and she quietly got out. She leaned forward, her hand on the door, and said, “I'll talk to you tomorrow. I really need you to do some serious thinking, though. I'm at my rope’s end.”

Mark nodded solemnly, his grip still tight on the steering wheel. “I can do that. Just please know how sorry I am,” he said, looking her in the eyes. 

She nodded and said, “I know you're sorry, but actions speak louder than words. Do know, though, that I love you very much. Probably more than I should at this point, which is why this hurts so much.”

The lump rose further in Mark’s throat and he let out a strangled, “I love you too, Bridget. Sleep well.”

“You too,” she replied, and shut the door behind her. Mark watched her unlock the door to the building of her flat, the pain in his chest sharp and uncomfortable. 

When he got home, he allotted himself two glasses of whiskey before heading to bed. He hadn't been apart from Bridget at night in months--only when he left the country on business. The vastness of his bed was especially obvious tonight as he laid on his side of it. 

Typically after a row, Mark and Bridget begrudgingly laid back-to-back, not touching any parts of their bodies and not saying a word. Eventually, Bridget would be the first to crack, and her apology--albeit sharp and exasperated--would happen before they both fell asleep. That usually entailed Bridget sheepishly curling up next to him, her hand on his chest as she picked at his shirt while they hashed out the issue. Mark always ended up kissing her gently before apologizing, too, and they'd fall asleep in each other’s arms. 

Tonight, though, they were in separate beds across the city and it was all his fault. Tonight he wouldn't notice her foot nudge his, the surefire indicator that her apology was coming. Tonight he wouldn't feel Bridget playing with the fabric of his shirt as they talked about how to fix the problem at hand. Tonight he wouldn't kiss her tenderly on top of the head as he murmured an apology into her hair.

Tonight he was alone, and he knew that sleep surely wasn't coming.


	4. On Nights As New Parents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three months into being new parents have left Mark and Bridget with new routines.

It had been three months since their son’s arrival, and Bridget and Mark had gotten barely enough sleep to make up a night’s worth. Between the bumbling first weeks as new parents to nights of colic and fussiness, they had somehow settled into a feeding routine. Bridget went to bed before Mark, and Mark took care of the first feeding, and then they rotated throughout the night until morning.

Bridget couldn’t express how lucky she felt, having Mark by her side. He was right where he was supposed to be, and he was such an incredible father that it choked her up. He swiftly and diligently took care of his fatherly responsibilities, all while taking care of her. Whenever it was his turn to feed Will, she could hear him cooing and gently singing to their son from down the hall. 

Upon his return to bed, he immediately kissed Bridget on the head. Sometimes he would spoon up against her, his breathing rhythmically keeping time with hers. Other times, he would keep his distance, allowing her to stretch out, but always keeping close enough to touch her if he wanted to.

She, on the other hand, wasn’t the sweetest of sleepers. Exhaustion seeped into her bones, and despite the overwhelming joy she felt at having her family, it took a lot of motivation to get through some nights. What Bridget lacked in sweet sentimentality, Mark made up for. Whenever  _ she _ returned to bed, she physically couldn’t stop herself from flopping onto the mattress, spreading her limbs wide, and taking a deep breath. Usually Mark got a faceful of her hand, and unfortunately a knee to the groin on occasion. Not once, though, did he complain.

On the nights that Will was particularly finicky, Mark made it a point to shower her with kisses and cuddles, smoothing her hair back from her face and whispering words of encouragement into her ear, even if it  _ was _ 3:00 in the morning. She was so thankful for him and his even keeled attitude. On more than one occasion, she had thought to herself how she would have managed on her own. 

Eventually, she would drift off to sleep, knowing that in only a few, short hours, Will’s cries would echo through the house and summon one of them to feed him. It wasn’t even worth cuddling up to Mark, because either he or she would wake up the other when it was their turn to go into Will’s room. 

The exhaustion left her indifferent--she even let Mark wear his socks to bed, not caring if they somehow disappeared from his feet in the middle of the night and made odd-shaped mounds under the covers at the foot of the bed. All she cared about was feeling his body heat next to hers, and occasionally grabbing his hand when she returned to bed to give it an affectionate squeeze.

Throughout the night, she would look thankfully at his sleeping form as she padded out of their bedroom. Sometimes she would bring Will back into the bedroom and feed him from the rocker in the corner, just to watch Mark sleep peacefully. He would splay his body out when she wasn’t there, hooking one leg over the covers so that his pajama pants inched up his leg, leaving about 2 inches of calf between the hem of the pants and the top of his scrunched down sock. He would snore softly, his face completely buried with his arms tucked underneath the pillow. He would always, though, make room for her when she returned, allowing at least some part of his body to touch hers, keeping her grounded and reminding her that he was there, every step of the way.

After the (hopefully) final feeding of the night, Bridget would drag her weary body back into the bedroom and climb back under the covers. It was during this mostly blissful moment--the moment that she knew she could sleep until dawn undisturbed--that Mark would subconsciously pull himself towards her and spoon himself up against her back. He would plant lazy kisses on the back of her head, nuzzling his nose into her scalp as his legs came up and around hers. She would smile to herself as he loved on her, him half-asleep and her on her way. 

They would fall asleep like this, all tangled limbs and matted hair, until the first cries of morning echoed down the hallway. 


	5. On Will's First Night at University

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark and Bridget experience the stress of leaving their only son at university.

It had been an emotional day. Eighteen years seemed to flash by Mark and Bridget’s eyes, and here they were on Will’s first day of university. They had helped him move into his dorm, Mark huffing and puffing as he helped him carry the heavy items, and Bridget fussing with his bed sheets and making sure that his clothes were hung properly. They had busied themselves all day with minor tasks to distract them from the inevitable--once all of the minor tasks were finished, they were leaving their only son at university. 

Mark hadn’t expect to find it as hard as he was. As an Etonian, he was used to goodbyes for long periods of time, finding solace in the quiet of the library and the companionship of his mates. This, though, was a far cry from those feelings. He felt like it was just yesterday that he had held Will in his arms as an infant, the intoxicating infant smell tempting him to hold him forever. Now, he was standing in the middle of Will’s dorm room, hugging him with all of his might and once again fighting the urge to hold onto him.

Bridget was taking it just as hard as Mark was. Will was her partner in crime, and she had confided in Mark privately that she wasn’t sure she would be able to get through the day without having a complete breakdown. He had to soothe her on more than one occasion when Will wasn’t home, telling her that it would be OK and that the winter recess would be here before they knew it. 

She now stood off to the side, her arms clasped tightly around herself as she watched Mark and Will embrace. The tears were brimming in her eyes, but she wasn’t letting them fall. Mark knew she was trying to be stoic for Will, not wanting to upset him, and he was exceptionally proud of the way she was keeping her composure. When he and Will broke apart, Mark clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a gruff, “I love you,” before turning towards Bridget.

It was then that Bridget had launched herself at their son, hugging him before he even had a chance to bring his arms up in reciprocation. She let out a muffled sob as she rambled off a list of hopes and wants for their son. 

“Always go to class, even if you’re hungover, and make good choices when it comes to friends. Don’t be rude to girls--always be a gentleman, and never mix drinks unless you want your head in the toilet. Make sure to call me  _ every single day _ , and have the most amazing time. You’re going to be amazing, Will. I know you are. Just, keep your chin up and keep being you. You’re the best thing I’ve  _ ever _ done, and I’m going to miss you so,  _ so _ much, but I’m also so,  _ so _ proud of you.” 

Mark could see their son’s face over Bridget’s shoulder, the color on his cheeks heightening as Bridget continued to ramble. A tear or two clung to the tight fringe of chestnut lashes, and that Darcy dimpled chin deepened as he held back the tears that his mother was letting flow freely. It took all of Mark’s willpower to not join in with them.

Once Bridget and Will finally broke apart, Bridget laid a swift kiss on her son’s cheek. She kept both hands on his shoulders and looked at him squarely in the eye. “I love you, William Jones-Darcy. If you need  _ anything _ , you call us. Even if it’s a designated driver at 2AM, I’ll make the drive. Or force your father to. Don’t think that a few hours between us means you can’t count on us. We love you.” 

She kissed him on the cheek again, giving him one last quick embrace before Mark swooped in for a final goodbye hug. He whispered in Will’s ear, “She means every single word, and I back her up on all of them. You’re going to be bloody brilliant. We’re only a phone call away.” He placed a kiss on Will’s temple, his hand cradling the back of his son’s head. 

Will looked into Mark’s eyes, his blue ones shining with tears but a smile on his face. “Thanks Dad. And Mom. Thank you both. I love you too and I promise I’ll behave myself. Don’t worry about me. I’ll call if I need anything.” Overcome with emotion, Bridget ushered the three of them into a group hug before quickly jumping back and fanning her eyes. 

“OK. Enough sappy stuff. We’ll leave you to it,” Bridget said, kissing Will once more on the cheek before stepping back to let Mark do the same. Will smiled at them with a small wave as they walked out of the dorm room.

Once out of the hallway where Will’s room resided, Mark put his arm around Bridget’s shoulder and pulled her in tightly. He planted a kiss on her head. “You OK?” he asked, his voice husky with emotion.

She nodded, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. “How is he 18 already? I feel like we were just holding him in our arms. It’s just unbelievable.” She let out a hiccup, wiping another tear with the heel of her hand. “Thank god I have you, Mark. I’d be a raving lunatic if you weren’t here.”

Despite the lump in his throat, he smiled at her and squeezed her hand. “Let’s hit the road. He’ll be fine--he has your panache and gregarious nature. He’s probably made a dozen friends in the past 3 minutes.”

The next six hours left Mark and Bridget sitting mostly in contemplative silence. The ride back from Newcastle University was a long one, and they only stopped once to grab dinner before hitting the road again. Occasionally they discussed what they thought Will might be up to at that moment, but they mostly traveled with their own thoughts, holding hands over the gear shift. 

When Mark finally pulled up to their house, Bridget couldn’t help stifling a yawn. “Talk about a bloody long day,” she said, getting out of the car to stretch. It was close to midnight at this point, and all they both seemed to want to do is sleep. 

Mark slid an arm around Bridget’s waist as they made their way up the stoop to their front door. He unlocked the front door and ushered her in, keeping his hand on her waist. They shed their coats, kicked off their shoes, and made their way upstairs to the master bedroom. Out of habit, they went through their nightly routine. Mark changed while Bridget took off her makeup, then they brushed their teeth together, side-by-side. Mark always climbed into bed first to read a chapter or two of whatever book he was engrossed in, and Bridget soon followed once she was in her pajamas. 

The two of them laid next to each other, the silence from the car still overlapping into the house. Bridget let out a sigh, and Mark absentmindedly reached out for her hand while he continued to read. He could feel her squeezing it more tightly than usual, her fingers tracing lines over his knuckles and the pads of her fingertips gently pressing up against his own. She lifted his hand to her lips to give it an occupied kiss, then dropped it back down in her lap with her own hand still covering his.

Mark glanced to the side at her. “Everything alright?”

“I suppose as alright as it can be,” she said, playing with the wedding band on Mark’s finger. “Do you always wear this to bed?” 

Mark took his glasses off to look at her. “Bridget, we've been married for 17 years and you  _ just  _ noticed that I never take my ring off?”

Bridget shrugged. “I suppose so. It's not like we hold hands every night in bed.” She paused before continuing. “I like that you don't take it off. Makes me feel important.” She twisted the platinum band around on Mark’s long, square finger. 

“You  _ are  _ important,” he replied. 

Bridget shrugged again. “I know that  _ now,  _ but I sometimes think how much I doubted it. ‘It’ being your love, of course. Silly, really. I don’t know how I could doubt you...immaturity, I guess. You’ve been such an amazing husband, Mark. Not to mention an amazing father. Will and I are the luckiest, and you just keep proving it.” She wiggled her body down under the covers, her fingers still fidgeting with Mark’s wedding band. “Amazing how we ended up here, right where we wanted from the start.”

Mark smiled at her. “You had every right to doubt me--I was an arse. But I’m glad that I was able to prove myself to you. Funny, though, I’m not that surprised that we ended up here. I never wanted anyone but you, Bridget, you know that. I could still kick myself for marrying Camilla...I suppose that despite my outward demeanor, I truly hate being alone, and after we broke it off it was the worst loneliness I had ever felt. So, the only logical thing I could think to do was find myself a wife. Nobody compared to you, though, so I ended up with another--what do you call them?--stick insect.” He paused to bring her hand up to his lips, kissing each knuckle on her hand. “I thank God everyday for that christening. I even thank him for that green dress with all of those blasted buttons on it.”

Bridget laughed, leaning her head against his shoulder. “You’re a right nuisance, you know that?” she murmured. Mark let go of her hand to properly put his arm around her shoulder, kissing her on the head.

“I do, as a matter of fact,” he murmured into her hair. They sat in silence, Mark’s lips still pressed against her hair and Bridget’s hand absentmindedly playing with the fabric of his t-shirt. Suddenly, Mark said, “I don’t know if I tell you this enough, but you’re an amazing mother. Watching you today with Will brought me back to when he was just a tiny little thing, all nestled up in your arms as you cooed at him and promised him the world. If getting you back was exactly what I wanted, then I never knew that what I  _ really _ wanted was to raise a child with you. You’re an absolute joy to watch, and I know that Will adores you with every fiber of his being--not that I can blame him...I’m quite partial to you myself.”

He could sense her smile, even though he couldn’t see it. “Thank you,” she murmured, and that was enough. 

“Let’s turn in, hm? It’s been a rollercoaster of a day and I’m knackered,” Mark continued, bringing his arm from around Bridget to roll over and click off the lamp next to their bed. When he rolled back towards Bridget, he felt her take his left hand in hers.

“Now that I know you wear this every night, I just want to enjoy it,” she said quietly, running her thumb along the smoothness of the metal. 

Mark leaned forward to kiss her on the lips. “Anything for you, my darling girl.”

The two of them fell asleep, hand-in-hand, after what turned out to be the most exhausting yet rewarding day of their marriage yet.


End file.
